


This Heart Is Burning Up

by Devonwood



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, allusions to canon infidelity, set in season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devonwood/pseuds/Devonwood
Summary: It’s no accident that they were together at Christmas, and again on Valentine’s Day.





	This Heart Is Burning Up

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Tightrope” by Walk the Moon. _Easy now, with my heart. You walk a tightrope._ Huge thanks to [](https://whenidance.livejournal.com/profile)[whenidance](https://whenidance.livejournal.com/) for some initial cheerleading, and [](https://star55.livejournal.com/profile)[star55](https://star55.livejournal.com/) for kicking me in the rump when I needed it.

**Christmas**

His dad is in the bed ten feet away and his ex-boyfriend is sleeping on the couch, and it should be weird except that it’s not. Last Christmas, Kurt would have said Blaine was part of the family, little and mismatched and perfect as it was, and perhaps it’s the lingering essence of the holiday season and the closeness of loved ones (because he meant what he said at Thanksgiving--he still loves Blaine, even when he doesn’t really want to) that make this inherently awkward situation entirely not-awkward.

Blaine shifts on the couch for the hundredth time in the last five minutes, causing the springs to squeak and rattle like a cat with a stepped-on tail. Kurt had made the couch as comfortable as he could with the extra pillows from both his and Rachel’s beds, and a blue blanket with a satin lining that’s deceptively scratchy, but he knows from experience falling asleep there during movie marathons with Rachel that the couch is good for nothing but a crick in the neck. That’s why, he reasons with himself, he slips out of bed and softly pads into the living room--just in case Blaine is tossing and turning while asleep instead of awake.

“Kurt?” Blaine leans up and over the edge of the couch, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He yawns, eyes squeezing shut, and moves one hand to where the blanket has slipped down his hips, scratching lightly at the exposed gap of skin between undershirt and pajama bottoms.

 _Fuck_.

“The one and only,” Kurt says, whispering in sing-song as he places his hands on the back of the couch a few inches down from Blaine’s body. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not really,” Blaine replies. He rolls his shoulders, popping them, before flopping back to the couch. “It’s been a long--” he cuts himself off, swallows. “Today’s been a lot.”

Kurt hums noncommittally. There’s a moment of stretched silence between them, Kurt’s foot gently tapping against the floorboards, the sound of Blaine’s legs swishing together in his pajama pants, before Kurt adds, “Why don’t you sleep in the bed? I know how your back gets when you sleep wrong.”

Best friends sleep in the same bed all the time. It’s entirely possible to platonically sleep with a friend, now that he and Blaine are friends again, and Kurt reasons it’d be rude to _not_ offer up the bed. Selfish, even. What are friends for, right?

“I can deal with the pain,” Blaine says, eyes resolute and distant, and Kurt gets the impression that Blaine’s slightly-warranted melodrama isn’t just about his back. “Besides, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed in your own home.”

 _You’re my home_ , Kurt thinks, but he clamps down on that thought immediately. He refuses to let himself go there, to lay down his heart where someone-- _this_ someone--could step on it again. “Ah,” Kurt says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was thinking we could both sleep there? Together?”

Blaine blinks once, twice, his hazel eyes wide and owled.

“Just as friends, though,” he adds, so quickly that his slight lisp strings the sentence together into one word.

“Right,” Blaine says, just as quick. “Friends.”

As Blaine refolds the blanket and straightens the couch cushions, Kurt slides under the covers on the left side of the bed (always his side, even after he stopped having someone to share it with). The sheets are chilled from his absence, and rustle against his heated flesh-- _why is he so hot?_ \--when Blaine climbs into the other side a couple minutes later. Kurt shivers, wraps the covers around himself, and rolls on his side away from Blaine.

Kurt’s eyes stare at the partition between his room and Rachel’s in the few minutes of silence that stretch over them. He can feel Blaine watching him, like a sixth sense forgotten and suddenly reignited in his bones. Kurt remembers last year, waking to the feeling of Blaine smiling at him, rubbing his thumb in circles against Kurt’s fingers until he woke and smiled, too.

He pulls the covers tighter to his body. “What are you thinking about?” Kurt asks.

“The last time I was in this bed.”

Kurt doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix this or if he really wants it to be fixed at all. They need to talk before Blaine leaves tomorrow because this conversation needs to happen in person, but Kurt can’t seem to get the words out. They all sound so final, no matter which ones he picks, and he wants to float in this limbo where he and Blaine can just be without being _something_. It might put his heart in limbo, too, but the uncertainty drapes around him like a security blanket and he’s afraid to let go.

Kurt turns over and faces Blaine, who’s flat on his back and stiff-bodied as if he’s afraid to move, afraid to disrupt this tentative _thing_ they have between them. He slips his eyes closed and finds Blaine’s hand in the darkness, noses down into his pillow as he squeezes their fingers together, and pretends he doesn’t shatter when Blaine chokes off a sob and clutches back.

He drifts, his breaths deepen and lull him to the deepest sleep he’s had in a while.

Kurt slides into wakefulness slowly, his toes spasming and feet twitching before the rest of his body gets all the way there. He’s snug, drowning in warmth and contentment and the smell of raspberries that had faded from his pillowcase months ago. He breathes in, stretches, and basks in comfort--until his right leg brushes against a leg that is most certainly not his own and he jolts awake to the vision of Blaine’s head resting on his shoulder

They’d shifted in the night because of course they had; two bodies familiar with sharing a bed gravitated together like magnets. Kurt half on his side with Blaine on his stomach, his head right up against Kurt’s neck with his nose buried in the little dip at his shoulder, one of Blaine’s arms thrown across Kurt’s stomach and one of Kurt’s curled around Blaine’s back. He watches it rise and fall, rise and fall with Blaine’s breaths, and shivers despite the warmth at how much the familiar image aches in his chest. The fit together again like those missing puzzle pieces Blaine sang about two years ago that Kurt had refused to think about for the past two months..

Blaine snuffles in his sleep, wriggling his nose into Kurt’s shoulder like he can’t get close enough. The hint of stubble on his cheek rubs at Kurt’s skin, and Kurt flushes, his morning erection becoming even more prominent and uncomfortably awkward. Blaine doesn’t seem to get the memo as he scoots closer, drawing himself right up along Kurt until his cock presses into Kurt’s thigh.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers harshly, jostling his shoulder. “Blaine.”

“Mmm,” Blaine hums, smiling and continuing to nose his way along the sensitive skin at the base of Kurt’s neck. His hips thrust forward lazily, sloppily into Kurt’s leg.

“Blaine, wake up,” Kurt says, sharp and as loud as he dares with his father only two partitions away.

Blaine yawns his way awake, entire body stretching with the movement. He smacks his lips together and opens his eyes slowly, blinking up at Kurt before closing them again and making a contented noise.

It takes three very long seconds by Kurt’s count before Blaine’s mind catches up and he bolts, hips springing backwards as he flings himself as far as he can in the cocoon of the sheets. “Sorry!” Blaine says, a little frantic and eyes wide. He flips his body over so he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Kurt, I was asleep and--oh _god_ , I’m sorry, I couldn’t--”

Kurt’s hand finds its way to Blaine’s shoulder, squeezing. “Shh, Blaine,” he soothes, rubbing gently. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t-- I know,” he finishes lamely, but he can’t stop staring at Blaine, at the way he turns his head and looks directly at Kurt, at the way his eyes keep flicking down to Kurt’s lips, at the way he lights up when Kurt can’t stop mumbling, _okay, it’s okay, baby_.

Kurt drags his hand from Blaine’s shoulder, runs it all the way down, presses it across the flat expanse of Blaine’s chest, circles a nipple briefly before drawing down down down, grips at Blaine’s left hip and skims across the little hump of his belly to grab at the other one. Blaine pants as Kurt rucks his shirt up, trails his fingers back and forth over the downy soft hairs.

Blaine’s entire body shakes when Kurt finally brings his hand the last few inches, until he cups Blaine warm and thick through the thin cotton and Blaine gasps and goes still. “Kurt, what does this--”

“I don’t--” Kurt starts, leaning over and propping up on one elbow to get a better angle. “Just--just be with me?”

“Okay,” Blaine breathes, hot and intoxicating against Kurt’s lips as he pushes up into a kiss.

It’s frantic and warm between the stifling covers and the hot press of their bodies together after so long. Kurt shifts until he’s half on top of Blaine, never breaking the kiss until one knee slots between Blaine’s and his cock ruts against Blaine’s hip. Kurt pulls away and groans, dragging in a quick breath before Blaine nips at Kurt’s bottom lip and pulls him back down. Kurt palms at Blaine’s pants, fingers playing over the head of Blaine’s cock until Blaine whines and bucks up against him.

“My dad,” Kurt whispers against Blaine’s jaw, trailing hot, stinging kisses along the flushed skin, and it’s just like last year in Kurt’s house, door open and two boys trying to get off without drawing any suspicion.

Blaine nods frantically, reaches up and plants his hands on Kurt’s hips. He’s getting close, Kurt can tell, intimately familiar with the way Blaine whimpers brokenly when he’s about to come.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Kurt asks, squeezing gently at the base of Blaine’s cock, and that’s what does it.

Blaine’s hips slam up, nearly bucking Kurt off his body, but Kurt keeps them grounded by sealing their lips together, stifling the loud noises threatening to escape from Blaine’s mouth. Kurt continues rubbing, feels the wet cloth stick to Blaine’s skin but he wants Blaine to float until the oversensitivity takes hold.

After a few more seconds Blaine bats weakly at Kurt’s hand until he moves it away. He circles his hands from Kurt’s hips to his back, presses down until they’re nose to nose, rubbing together like eskimos. “Let me take care of you,” Blaine whispers. He licks the palm of his hand once, twice, before reaching down the front of Kurt’s pajama pants.

“Not gonna last,” Kurt says between gritted teeth. He’s been on edge since he woke up, the heat and the closeness making everything better and worse at the same time. It only takes three jerks of Blaine’s fist before Kurt turns his head and muffles his cry into the pillow, spilling hot and wet over Blaine’s hand. His hips fuck into Blaine’s fist as he draws it out, doesn’t want to stop remembering how good Blaine feels around his cock, but eventually he pulls away and re-opens the eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed. Blaine is there, blinking over him, with a tissue from the bedside table.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, blushing as Blaine wipes him down, even after all they’ve done. The simple intimacy of it, of Blaine remembering how Kurt hates post-sex mess, of Kurt’s chest still heaving from the exertion while Blaine takes care of him, while they take care of each other, causes Kurt to blurt, “This doesn’t mean anything, you know.”

Blaine’s hand spasms against his stomach then stops, and before Blaine ducks his head Kurt gets a glimpse of how utterly _devastated_ he looks. Kurt’s heart drops into his stomach and his arms itch to gather Blaine up into a hug.

“Not like that, that’s not what I--” Kurt breaks off, scrubbing a hand against his eyes so he doesn’t reach out. “Of course this meant something, Blaine--sex with you is always, _always_ meaningful.” Kurt tilts Blaine’s chin up with two fingers, leans in for a kiss that’s soft and chaste against his lips.

When they part, Blaine’s lips stay softly-puckered and he keeps his eyes closed. “I just meant,” Kurt says, “that I’m--I’m not ready to be back together with you.”

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand, locks their fingers together and brings their joined fists to his rapidly beating heart. “I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he says, full of conviction, and Kurt smiles though he’s not entirely sure he should.

\---

**Valentine’s Day**

Now that the lines of communication have re-opened between them, Kurt can’t seem to _stop_ contacting Blaine. At first, it’s little texts about his day-- _woman in front of me at starbucks wearing a white fur coat with black spots, not entirely convinced i didn’t just see cruella deville_ \-- not unlike ones he used to send during the early days of their friendship, when he didn’t know what to talk about with this enigmatic boy other than shared musical interests and gay rights activism. Those quickly morph into phone calls over television shows and other, more important things like Burt’s trips to the hospital for chemo and Kurt’s upcoming NYADA spring recital, which then morph into Skype sessions-that-are-absolutely-not-dates-because-we-are-not-dating. January passes with free-flowing conversation that’s no longer stilted and awkward and full of dancing around topics while trying to keep a forced-cheerful atmosphere.

It’s why Kurt brings up Adam late one night; why he tells Blaine about joining the Apples and having a genuinely good time in a show choir, for once; why he very carefully mentions they’re not exclusive and just going on casual dates. It’s why Blaine tells Kurt about his crush on Sam, how he doesn’t want to ruin this nice friendship he’s found at McKinley but he can’t stop thinking about Sam’s impressions, and why Kurt laughs because he’s totally been there since _no gay man can resist the lips, Blaine_.

They’re getting better, which makes it inevitable, really, that they’re pulled together on Valentine’s Day like moths draped in formal wear to the alluring flame of a Prius’ backseat .

“Later,” Kurt whispers out the corner of his mouth, hiding his erection with a jacket as they walk arm-in-arm with Mercedes into the church.

 _Later_ turns out to be three hours and twenty-six minutes later, after the failed wedding and the much more successful reception, after Kurt feigns a flimsy excuse for he and Blaine to go up to his hotel room that, had everyone else not been distracted by the ongoing Finn and Rachel drama, would have been entirely see-through.

“Are you sure you left your camera up here?” Blaine asks, trailing a few feet behind him through the hallway. “Because I thought I saw Mike with it at the wedding, and--”

“Don’t play naive, Blaine,” Kurt says. He swipes the keycard and swings open the door. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Blaine grins--smirks, really, in a way that makes desire trickle in Kurt’s belly-- and his demeanor changes in a second flat. “Sometimes it does,” he says, a very familiar and cheeky tone to his voice, and Kurt can’t do anything but grab him by the tie and drag him into the room.

Kurt slams the door shut and crowds Blaine back into it, presses his body tight against the wood. He uses his grip on the tie to pull him toward Blaine for a searing kiss that’s dirty from the start, all tongue and nipping teeth and groans melting into each other’s mouths. Kurt can’t get close enough, wants to _suffocate_ in Blaine, breathe him in until he’s saturated in nothing but the scent of him, and everything becomes threateningly intimate as Kurt loses himself in the heat of Blaine’s palms spread wide across the expanse of his back.

He spins out and away, takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I want you naked,” Kurt says, facing away from Blaine but still able to hear the rustle and slide of clothes being torn from his body. “Leave the tie, though,” he throws over his shoulder, removing his own clothes to the sound of Blaine’s soft groan. Kurt drapes his jacket over the chair and begins unbuttoning his shirt, only getting halfway down before Blaine returns, naked but for a pair of black briefs and the damn tie, and takes over sliding the buttons through the holes.

Kurt sucks in another breath. The familiarity both grounds him and tilts his world on its axis. He’s spent four months compartmentalizing all of these feelings, separating the bits and pieces of Blaine that mean different things to him, but with every slip-slide of Blaine’s lips against his, the pieces become _Blaine_ , his best friend and boyfriend and lover amalgamation. In the hallway, the elevator, Blaine’s Prius--hell, even in December--Kurt had been able to lose himself in the quick, dirty thrill of taking pleasure with another body. This, however, is slow; with every gentle touch of Blaine’s fingertips to the newly-revealed skin of Kurt's chest, this is dangerously close to “making love” like they used to instead of fucking like he wants to. This is spiraling into feelings of love instead of lust, and it _can’t_.

Blaine pushes the shirt off Kurt’s shoulders and it falls to a heap on the floor, which Kurt immediately kicks out of the way as he backs toward the bed. The distance allows him to view Blaine properly, all the hard muscle he remembers in that tight little body, the black tie dangling loose from his neck and contrasting brilliantly with his olive skin, the obliques a sharp line against the slight pouch of his smooth belly.

“I forgot I was with a celebrity,” Kurt says, moving his hands to the buckle of his belt. “Mister December-and-January, in the waxed flesh.”

“Shut up,” Blaine says, ducking his head with a laugh. “I still can’t believe Sam sent you those.”

“ _I_ can’t believe they went with a Sexy Pilgrim motif,” Kurt says. “At least you got to hold phallic objects in front of your crotch. Not even you can pull off sexualizing a turkey dinner.”

Blaine hums, stalking forward until Kurt’s knees bump the bed and Blaine is flush against his body. “I think I could make it work,” he says, working open the fly on Kurt’s pants. “Let me Plymouth Rock your world, baby.”

Kurt groans in an entirely not-sexy way, swatting at Blaine’s shoulder with his hand. “You’re terrible.”

“Mmm, but you love me anyway,” Blaine says, tugging until Kurt’s pants pool at his feet and he’s left in an unintentionally matching pair of black briefs, and Kurt is proud that his heart only thuds painfully once before he shuts it down.

Kurt bends at the knees and reclines on the edge of the bed, leaned back and propped on his elbows as Blaine looms over and brackets Kurt’s chest with his hands. They’re close again, achingly so, and Kurt barely has to lean forward before their lips slot together in delicious agony. Kurt brings a hand up to cup Blaine’s jaw, feeling the play of their mouths moving underneath his fingertips as Blaine surges into the kiss like he’s starved for it. Blaine’s right knee presses against the bed between Kurt’s spread legs which gives him the leverage to put more emphasis behind his kisses, each one a bruising crescendo that leaves Kurt clamoring for breath between them.

“Need you,” Blaine says, whining as he pulls away from Kurt’s mouth to nuzzle and nip at the hollow of Kurt’s throat. He bites, then soothes the sting with flat licks of his tongue, lapping up the sweat pooling there before he climbs fully onto the bed and flops onto his back next to Kurt. “Just like this.”

Kurt stands, shimmies his way out of his briefs as Blaine works his hips on the bed to do the same. “You have me,” Kurt says, crawling over Blaine and lowering his body until they’re pressed together from mouth to hip, Kurt’s legs straddling Blaine’s body.

Blaine bucks into the touch, lips parting on a gasp that Kurt attempts to draw back out with his tongue as he licks into Blaine’s mouth, his hands clenching into the sheets at Blaine’s sides. They are hard lines and soft flesh pressed against each other, and Kurt’s eyes slam shut as Blaine scratches his nails gently down Kurt’s back. They grind in slow, rolling, well-practiced movements that leave Kurt burning for more, the imitation of fucking only enhancing his desire.

He growls, nosing under the loose fabric of Blaine's tie before sucking a wet mark into the juncture of Blaine’s neck and shoulder. “Want me to ride you, baby?” Kurt asks, punctuating his words with a quick-hot roll of his hips. “Hold myself above your cock until you _beg_ for it?”

“Please,” Blaine whines, wrapping his legs around Kurt’s thighs and dragging him in until they’re as close as two people can get before joining together. Blaine thrusts his hips, his cock moving slick through the bit of sweat and pre-come gathered at Kurt’s groin. “Wanna feel you.”

Kurt groans, lowers his forehead to Blaine’s shoulder and presses into the hard muscle there. It steadies him, allows him a second to retreat from the precipice he’s so close to falling over. He didn’t expect to _feel_ this much, though really it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise--Blaine has always been the one to make him feel again. Blaine’s hands grip at the skin of Kurt’s lower back, fingers splaying out like he wants to touch as much of Kurt’s skin as possible, and Kurt understands, his own hands digging into the sheets with the ache to touch.

He gives in to the desire, drags himself from the warmth of Blaine’s kisses and sits back on his heels, the bottom of his ass resting against Blaine’s calves. Blaine blinks up at him with warm, trusting eyes, mouth slightly parted and tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He looks like an angel from Kurt’s worst nightmare, draped across the sheets like a thing to be devoured. _My precious boy_ , Kurt thinks, reaching forward to push the tie aside so he can run a finger uninterrupted down Blaine’s shivering body from clavicle to navel.

It only takes Kurt a moment of frantic, over-the-bed, one-armed rustling before he finds the tiny bottle of lube in the inner pocket of his suitcase (and he absolutely, resolutely _does not think_ about why he packed a bottle of lube for this trip to Lima). He doesn’t rejoin Blaine in the middle of the bed--instead, Kurt hands over the lube before lying on his back next to Blaine, a throw pillow propped underneath his hips. Blaine doesn’t need a command to get the hint, immediately coating his fingers and bringing two to Kurt’s hole, a little cold and a little fast but just the way they’ve learned Kurt likes it.

Blaine runs hot, open-mouthed kisses across the expanse of Kurt’s abdomen while he rubs over the sensitive flesh of Kurt’s hole, warming the lube against his skin before pressing in with those two fingers. The stretch is a lot at first--especially when Kurt hasn’t touched himself like this in a while, only able to jerk off quickly in the shower due to the constant presence of three other roommates in a loft with no walls (and if it has the added bonus of eliminating all the hot water the morning after Kurt’s heard Rachel and Brody going at it like sea lions, well, just an added bonus). Kurt rocks himself down on Blaine’s fingers with long, languid fucks of his hips as Blaine teases his rim with the tip of a third.

“I remember how you want it,” Blaine says, grinning up at Kurt as he pulls his lips from Kurt’s stomach. He kisses the tip of Kurt’s cock, lips lingering _just there_ for a stretched-thin moment, then opens his mouth and takes Kurt all the way in at the same time he slides his third finger into Kurt’s hole.

Kurt spasms, hands flying to Blaine’s hair as his hips catch between pushing up into the warmth of Blaine’s mouth and bearing down onto Blaine’s fingers filling him up. No amount of time could make Kurt forget just how enthusiastic Blaine is about sucking cock, how much he loves Kurt sliding between his lips and, occasionally, down his throat. He makes happy, contented noises that are muffled around Kurt’s cock, and creates a rhythm between his fingers and his mouth that leaves Kurt strung between two equally fantastic points of pleasure.

He gets too close to the edge and moves his hands down to the tie at Blaine’s neck, tugging for him to stop. “So ready,” Kurt says, voice strained, and Blaine pops off, seemingly unable to resist a few last, soft licks to the tip of Kurt’s dick before he pulls away entirely. Blaine clambers up the bed and reclines partially against the headboard, already stroking his cock with more lube by the time Kurt joins him.

In one smooth motion that Kurt’s rather proud of, he swings a leg over Blaine’s hip and settles down against him, grinding along the length of Blaine’s cock as it slides between his cheeks. The tip catches on Kurt’s hole, making both of them moan at the tease.

“Are you clean?” Kurt asks, and it hurts, a little but not as much as it used to, that he has to ask in the first place.

“Yeah,” Blaine breathes, face pained. “I got tested right--even though we didn’t, but-- yeah, I’m clean.”

And Kurt trusts him--with this, maybe, but not yet with his heart. “Me, too,” he says, grinding again, eyes fluttering at the taste of how good this will be.

“C’mon, _please_ ,” Blaine says, panting and shaking his head.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Kurt says, trailing off as he grabs Blaine’s dick, lines them up, and sinks all the way down.

Blaine’s cock in his ass doesn’t feel like coming home--that’s too melodramatic even by Kurt’s standards--but it does feel sharp and brilliant, unsettling and comforting, like an awakening of something inside that Kurt didn’t realize was sleeping. That’s just the sex, he thinks. After a year they’d become rather good at it, and Kurt has missed the way Blaine’s body-- _a_ body, any body--feels underneath him. Sex is fun, Blaine and Kurt had learned that together, and there is nothing wrong in seeking fun with a more-than-willing participant. He’s missed the raw physicality of the act, and his body is thanking him. That’s all this can be.

Kurt leans back, bracing his hands on Blaine’s thighs as he works his hips in slow circles, reminding his body of the delicious ache that comes from being stretched and full. Kurt rocks back and forth, never letting Blaine slip away, and Blaine’s hands fly to Kurt’s stomach, the only part of Kurt’s body he can reach, splaying warm over his skin. Blaine whines when Kurt doesn’t make any move to thrust, lift off Blaine’s cock and fuck himself down.

“Kurt, please, fuck me,” Blaine says, but Kurt just closes his eyes and grins, sinfully rolling his hips.

Blaine lets out a soft grunt, air puffing from between his lips as he plants his feet on the mattress. He bucks up _hard_ , his cock sliding even deeper inside as Kurt falls forward, catching himself with his hands planted on Blaine’s chest. Blaine takes the opportunity while he can, thrusts several times into Kurt while Kurt groans low and broken. The change in angle brings Blaine right against his prostate, but Kurt isn’t ready for this to be over so soon, isn’t ready for the control to slip from his fingers and into Blaine’s.

“Let me, baby,” Kurt whispers, hot and sultry, fingers pinching at Blaine’s stomach to still his movements.

Kurt digs his toes into the sheets and properly _rides_ Blaine like he’s wanted to all night and, if he’s being truly honest, the past four months. He alternates between quick, short thrusts that reignite the millions of nerve endings around his stretched rim, and long, slow rolls that fill him up with Blaine, hot and hard and deep and _so fucking good_ inside him. Kurt sits up straighter so he can get better leverage, pushing against Blaine’s chest with his hand when he moves to follow. “No touching,” he says, and Blaine grunts as he flops back to the bed, arms falling to his sides.

After running his fingers from his thighs up to his neck, Kurt drags his hands through his hair, smiling, eyes closed in bliss as he rocks down onto Blaine’s cock. He can’t stop touching himself, one hand moving to his dick, stroking in slow, gentle movements, the other tracing delicately along his clavicle, making goosebumps flicker across his skin. He’s putting on a show, and when Blaine accuses him of it a minute later, breathy-voiced and eyes blown wide and mouth parted around a near-constant string of muttered curses, Kurt just laughs and raises both hands above his head, dancing and twining his hips like he’s learned in the clubs of New York City.

They fuck together until Kurt can’t any more, until Blaine’s deep inside, until a twist of his hand along the head of his cock, until the quiet gasps and moans Blaine makes, eyes reverent and pleading and wet with unshed tears, until the twitch of Blaine’s fingers against the sheets like he’s dying to touch, until the sweat and harshness and beauty of the moment overwhelm him and he can’t hold on.

Kurt wraps the fabric of Blaine’s tie around his hand, grips tight, and pulls them together, Blaine’s back lifting off the bed, mouth opened on a groan that Kurt turns into a kiss. Blaine’s arms are thrown around Kurt’s waist, embracing, hugging him close while fingers scrabble against Kurt’s back like he can’t get enough of touch. Kurt’s slide around Blaine’s shoulders as he rolls them together, and they kiss and kiss and _kiss_ until Kurt drags his mouth away, crying out as he comes just from the slight friction of his cock against Blaine’s stomach. He squeezes around Blaine, clenching tight through his orgasm, and Blaine follows shortly after with a couple quick thrusts of his hips until he stills and gasps Kurt’s name against his neck.

Kurt slips off Blaine, ignoring the desperation to keep him inside even with the oversensitivity. He’s messy, come and lube and sweat _everywhere_ , it seems, but while Kurt feels a little gross, like he always does, Blaine basks in the afterglow, content and sated and well-fucked, like he always does. Kurt grabs the closest thing, which happens to be Blaine’s tie, somehow pulled loose and off Blaine’s head during those final moments, and goes to clean them up. At the last second his brain catches up with his body, appalled, and he flings the tie onto the nightstand to avoid the mess. He grabs a couple tissues instead, wipes them through the rapidly-cooling streaks of white across his stomach and Blaine’s, across their cocks and thighs and _god_ , even their chests.

Blaine makes grabby hands once Kurt is done, arms outstretched like he’s ready for a hug. “Stay with me a little bit,” he says, voice steady but eyes pleading. “We can set the alarm for thirty minutes. No one will notice we’re gone”

Kurt can picture it: Blaine snoozing, worn out after his orgasm and drifting into a gentle sleep full of light snores, Kurt stroking his hair, twining the curls around his fingers and scratching softly at Blaine’s scalp as his head rests against Kurt’s shoulder. It’s shockingly intimate, way more than the sex they just shared, a reminder of what they used to be with each other, _to_ each other.

“And risk becoming a bigger scandal than a runaway bride?” Kurt says, attempting lightness that even he can hear he doesn’t achieve. “We should head back to the reception.”

He dresses quickly, facing the mirror as he pulls on black briefs that he’s not entirely sure are his and not Blaine’s, but he blushes and doesn’t say anything and stares in the mirror and absolutely does not look at Blaine, dressed, sitting on the bed behind him.

“Tell me now that we’re not back together,” Blaine says, shaking his head and clasping his hands like this whole thing is that _simple_. Kurt expects Blaine to be desperate and pining like he was during those first few voicemails, but he’s _not_ \--he’s confident and assured and sexy and acts like he knows they’ll be back together without a doubt--and it throws Kurt off, because for the first time he sees that Blaine has done a lot of maturing without Kurt there by his side. And he without Blaine, he thinks.

So he says it was fun, leans in for a kiss and breathes, “I’ll see you downstairs,” against Blaine’s kiss-bruised lips. He doesn’t know where he and Blaine stand now or what this new relationship-that’s-not really means to what they’ve been and what they will be, but Kurt knows, the taste of Blaine still lingering on his tongue as he rejoins the reception, that _this_ will definitely happen again before he returns to New York.


End file.
